


Pressing Questions Enable Unreserved Answers

by Buckets_Of_Stars



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Anxiety, Complete, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Getting Hurt On A Mission, Godfather Happy, Happy Hogan is a Good Bro, Hugs, Hurt Peter, Hurt Tony, Mama Bear Tony Stark, One Shot, Panic Attacks, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Stark - Freeform, Precious Peter Parker, Prompt Fill, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Uncle Happy, dad tony stark, son peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 09:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16083164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckets_Of_Stars/pseuds/Buckets_Of_Stars
Summary: The news was on, an alien was attacking New York (again), and Peter was on the sidelines. Now, this in itself is pretty crappy, but after watching your Dad get ripped from the sky on live TV, the young Stark is going to have much more than just a broken leg to deal with.Much, much more.





	Pressing Questions Enable Unreserved Answers

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Sarah, who underestimated my ability to make you scream at me for being an asshole. I love you, you loser. <3 
> 
> And to all my other amazing readers, I hope you enjoy!:)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any related materials.

* * *

 

The thing is, Peter absolutely loathes sitting on the sidelines.

 

He’s Spider-Man, the hero of Queens and son of Tony Stark— _freaking Iron Man_. When he’s his alter-ego, he’s not a lowdown 15 year old with anxiety and a face like a cartoon deer, a person that he himself would probably cringe away from and laugh at in the halls if the rolls with anyone were reversed.

 

Oh, who was he kidding, he is too nice for that, too _sympathetic._

 

Weak.

 

But when Peter is Spider-Man, he is no longer himself.

 

Now, however, here he is, propped up on the couch, his leg in a gigantic red cast and a patchwork of bruises creating blue and purple dots along his arms. Huffing out a harsh sigh, the teen tilts his head back, the blood twisting toward his brain in a hot rush.

 

“Can’t I at least go outside?” He asks, his voice a whine even to his own ears.

 

Happy, emerging from the kitchen carrying a bag of chips and a soda under one arm, stops in the doorway. His scowl is an upside-down smile, crooked and forcing his dark eyes to narrow down at his nephew.

 

“Nope.” Is all the man says, popping open the drink as he comes around the couch, Peter having to crane his neck to watch.

 

Sitting up more against the cushion, the spiderling tries to keep from pouting, crossing his arms over his chest. His cast knocks against the coffee table, rattling the chocolate milk stained glass sitting on top and causing Happy to snap his arm forward to catch it.

 

“Watch it, kid—“

 

But Peter cuts him off, turning his head to stare out the window, the afternoon sun bouncing off the tall buildings outside. “It’s just so boring and my leg doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

 

Happy leans back further against the couch, the leather squeaking. “Now we both know you’re lying, Pete. Don’t forget that I’m in charge of you while Tony is away.”

 

Holding back a flinch at the mention of his father, the teen weakly pulls at a faded patch of string on his jacket, feeling Happy’s softening eyes on him.

 

“He’s gonna be okay, Peter. He’s been on plenty of missions before and always comes back.”

 

Glancing quickly at his Godfather, the boy feels his cheeks flame when his eyes meet Happy’s, the Driver’s dark with sympathy. Shrugging, Peter reaches down, tugging his blanket back over his legs.

 

“I know,” The boy sighs, clenching his fists in his lap, wrapping his fingers around the fabric and squeezing. “But I’m not there—I’m not there to make sure his is really okay because I made a _stupid_ mistake and got caught in a robbery that I couldn’t handle and—“

 

Jumping suddenly at the unexpected weight of his Uncle’s hand on his shoulder, the teen snaps his eyes up, watching with a slightly blurry gaze as the man settles down beside him.

 

“Slow down, kid, don’t wanna bust a lung.” Holding up a finger, Happy jostles Peter’s arm with his other hand, forcing the boy to look up at him again when his eyes slip back to the carpet below. “First of all, what happened to you last week was not your fault. No one blames you and we are all just happy you’re okay.”

 

Peter swallows against the sudden lump that clogs his airway, listening as Happy clears his throat before continuing.

 

“And secondly, I think your Dad is safer with you here at the compound.” Pushing his nephew down when the boy attempts to sit up, the man lets out a sigh. “Let me explain before you start jabbering. What I mean is that while you are here, Tony can focus on watching out for himself without having to worry about you.”

 

 _Without you being a liability._

 

It goes unsaid, but the spiderling hears the comment all the same and he can’t stop the guilt that fizzles in his veins, despite knowing that the driver didn’t really mean it like that. He nods, tensing as Happy looks him up and down, expression unreadable. Finally, the man turns away and reaches out to grab the remote, flicking the TV on after a second of silence.

 

 _“—nd Amy is live in downtown Manhattan where the Avengers are currently fighting what looks like a gigantic rage monster. Amy?”_ A creepily cheerful new anchor is saying, face twisted in a pleasing smile.

 

Blinking, the young Stark stares as her face fades out to black, station popping. Suddenly, Peter’s eyes widen, choking on air as the screen changes to a ground view of Times Square, the few still standing buildings spilling smoke out onto the streets as they blaze red hot. 

 

A middle age woman in what appears to be a bright yellow rain coat stands in the middle of the screen as the far off roars echo in the distance. She has to almost yell to be heard. _“Yeah guys, it’s pretty crazy out here right now. As you can see the monster appeared to. . . “_

 

But Peter has tuned her out, instead focusing his entire being on the distant blur of red and gold as it streams across the sky, slightly blurry from the smoke. Leaning forward with a barely audible cry of alarm, the young Stark doesn’t blink, staring at the tv until his dad is out of sight, the loud blast of his repulsers igniting the air around his teammates in a cloud of blue and gray a few seconds later.

 

“See, Pete what did I tell you?” Happy starts to say, smirking at the boy’s responding eye roll. “Everything is f—“

 

Suddenly the camera zooms in close, jumping in a way that means something thrilling is happening and his Uncle cuts himself off to frown, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. Peter doesn’t dare to even breathe, gripping the edge of the couch so hard the fabric starts to rip, feeling sick as the camera man finally focuses on the far off chaos unfolding.

 

Through the thick fog, the screen is filled with the scaly body of the alien creature, its’ huge jaws open in a loud yell that shakes the ground, the responding roar of the Hulk cutting through the air, the large body sailing over the trees and climbing onto the monster, a speck of green on dirty brown.

 

The news lady starts to narrate again, voice shaking, but Peter ignores her completely, feeling his nerves jump at each snap of the alien’s mouth, his eyes shifting from the fight on the ground to the always moving form of his father, the genius’s armor glistening in the light of the sun. Tony shoots blast after blast at the monster, ducking at each swipe of its large claws.

 

You would have to know him extremely to well to see how frustrated he really is. Luckily, Peter knows him better than anyone.

 

And the boy doesn’t like what he sees.

 

He senses the movement before his Dad does, the back of his neck tingling and his throat going dry. He sees the way the man has started to fly lower in a hope to get a better angle, sees the way the alien reaches up, black talons as sharp as knives slicing through the air, tumbling toward Tony so fast they are a blur.

 

He sees and there is _nothing_ he can do about it.

 

This time, both Peter and Happy can’t keep their cries of alarm silent, Peter’s voice cracking. It seems almost slow motion as the creature practically drags his father out of the sky, his claws digging into the man’s armor and throwing him to the ground, both of them disappearing as the smoke rises.

 

A small blue and red clad figure, one Peter knows to be Steve, runs across the battlefield, his shield spinning through the air as he appears to shout something through the coms.

 

Then the camera quickly pans away and the young Stark wants to scream.

 

To throw something or stomp out of the stupid compound and swing across the city and _make sure that his Dad is alright._

 

He starts to get up, gasping, the pain in his healing leg turning his whole body aflame, but is forced back down by a frowning and nervous Happy, the man grabbing onto both of his shoulders and blocking his view of the still flashing screen.

 

“Listen to me, Peter.” He says, voice muffled and the spiderling blinks up at him, eyes quickly filling with tears as his body jerks. “You need to calm down, kid. Breathe with me okay? In and out, bud, in and out.”

 

Finally, after what feels like years, the boy begins to breathe again, breaths shuddering as he continues to sob a little, shoulders jumping. His Godfather continues to pat his back, offering slightly awkward words of comfort as his nephew grabs onto his sleeve with shaking fingers. 

 

“W-we need to go get him, Uncle Happy.” Peter pleads, voice watery. “We need to-to do something. Please.”

 

But the driver shakes his head, reaching over to turn off the television as it flashes images of Tony’s fall again and again, each one feeling like a stab straight to Peter’s heart.

 

“We can’t kid, I’m sorry, but it’s my job to keep you safe and safe means here right now.”

 

The teen grits his teeth, his head spinning as worry and a bone crushing terror twists through his body. He nearly collapses from the force.

 

_What if he’s dead?_

 

The thought springs to his mind unbidden and Peter tries to push it down, to push down the panic before it can climb up his throat and steal the very air from his lungs.

 

A ringing suddenly cuts through the tension and Happy quickly pulls out his phone, the screen flashing an unknown number before the driver presses answer, quickly walking out of the room, whispering furiously. He only glances back once, his brows furrowed and his eyes holding an emotion Peter cannot place, before he leaves fully.

 

Sucking in a wet gasp, Peter waits a few seconds before carefully standing up, legs wobbling as leftover tears drip down his chin. Limping over to the doorway, the teen presses his ear against the wood, listening as his Uncle paces across the floor, voice aggravated.

 

 _“What the fuck do you mean his com is down?! We didn’t pay—yeah, I know it’s on the news—well, what do you want me to tell him? The kid’s been in there crying for the last 10 minuets because he thinks his father is fucking dead and you can’t give me any information?”_ A beat of silence, and Peter dares to not even breathe _“Just-Just call me back when you know for sure.”_

 

Scrambling back, his leg screaming in agony, the boy has barely made it more than three steps toward the couch when Happy is opening the door, his face grim and eyes hard. They soften when he catches site of Peter, his warm hand reaching out and gently leading the boy back to the sofa.

 

The whole time, the teenager wants to throw off the man’s arm and run far away.

 

Clearing his throat, Happy sits down beside him, the cushion dipping under their combined weight.

 

“He’s okay, Pete.” The man says and they both painfully ignore the phone call. “They just have to help clean up and they will all be back soon.”

 

But Peter knows better and his heart clenches.

 

It isn’t until around 30 minuets later that Happy’s phone rings once more, the noise startling Peter from his staring contest with the clouds outside. Turning his whole body around, the boy waits, body tense and eyes misty, as his Godfather answers the call, the man not even bothering to go into the kitchen again.

 

Happy’s face is a blank mask, dark gaze not meeting Peter’s as he grunts out yes’s or no’s. Finally, he hangs up, stuffing this phone back in his pocket and standing up, knees popping.

 

“Well?” Peter gasps out, feeling his anxiety dig into his sides and tug his skin from his bones.

 

Then Happy smiles and Peter’s whole world falls back into place. “They’re on their way back, kid. Tony’s a little banged up, but mostly fine.”

 

The teen nearly faints from relief.

 

* * *

 

 

The very second Tony limps into the compound, Peter is there.  

 

Sobs burst from his mouth, his whole body shivering as he falls into his father in the middle of the kitchen, clutching the man with a strength of iron, tangling his hands into Tony’s under armor and burying his face in the man’s shoulder, a strangled mess of cries and the man’s name filling the empty space around them.

 

“Peter.” Is all the billionaire says, his own voice watery, curling his good arm, his other in a thick cast, tightly around his child and gently stroking his hair. “ _Peter._ ”

 

The spiderling just cries harder, nuzzling his head against the Arc Reactor and not caring how bad the man smells.

 

Because his dad is _home_ and _alive_ and _there_.

 

The rest of the team creeps around them, their faces weary and battle tired but also relieved, the sound of their footsteps fading until only Peter, Tony and Happy are left.

 

Lifting his head enough to look at his brother, Tony whispers a nearly silent “Thank you.” before his voice cracks and he can’t continue. Happy, however, just nods, stopping next to them long enough to ruffle Peter’s hair, face soft, before he too leaves, closing the door behind him.

 

After a few minuets of just holding each other, Tony gently pulls Peter’s face out from his hiding spot, gently brushing away the tears that continue to leak from his boy’s eyes, trailing his fingers down his son’s red cheek and smiling softly when the teen leans into the touch.

 

“The monster is gone, buddy. Dead. A pile of smoking grass is all that’s left.” Tony whispers, a small dose of pride evident in his voice. “Killed it before it could even fight back.”

 

Peter knows that the man is lying, saw on the very News the challenge the alien was to take down, can see it now in the busies littering the man’s tan skin and the deep gashes in his arm, but decided against arguing, instead limping impossibly closer and relishing in the feeling of contentment that gripped his heart for the first time in hours as his father gently kisses the top of his head.

 

“I-I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help, Dad.” It’s whispered, choked out in a spitfire of late tears. “I wanted to be, I swear b—“

 

“No, kiddie, no. Don’t do this, please. I am honestly so—“ Tony swallows, the pounding of his heart audible through his chest, the sound thumping under Peter’s ear. “—so relieved you weren’t there to see that, you don’t need to _ever_ see that.” 

 

_But I already have, Dad. And I don’t think I’m ever going to unsee it._

 

“Cause you don’t want me to get in the way. I get it.”

 

This time, Tony pulls back harsher, his brows drawing and his face tinged with confused concern.

 

“No, that’s not it at all, bud. What makes you think that?”

 

Peter shrugs, glancing down, wincing a little at the sting of his bruises. “I’m sorry, it’s stupid. . .”

 

Strong hands tilt his chin back up, warm brown eyes staring into his identical ones, the arm around him tightening. “It’s not stupid, Peter. Not if it’s bothering you.”

 

The teen doesn’t answer, pulse pounding as his father sighs harshly. The man, taking a second to gently rock them from side to side, finally speaks again, voice rough with an emotion Peter can’t name.

 

“Do you know why I was taken down today, Pete?”

 

The boy flinches. “You don’t have to talk—“

 

“But I do, okay? I need you to understand and hear me, kiddie. Please.”

 

“Okay.” Peter swallows, blinking back tears for what feels like the millionth time that evening. “O-Okay, I’m listening.”

 

Tony takes a deep breath, as though preparing to take a long dive. Peter supposes that this is almost the same thing. “The reason I fell today was because _you weren’t there_. You weren’t there and I didn’t have anyone watching my back like you do and I just-just couldn’t focus. It was like I was missing my safety goggles, buddy. You—not Spider-Man, but _you_ —being there has saved my life more times then I can count.”

 

For a whole minute, Peter is speechless.

 

His mouth opens and closes, eyes blinking as his brain struggles to make sense of what he just heard. Finally, he manages to choke out one word, his throat clogging as hot tears trail down his face once more.

 

“ _Really?_ ”

 

“Yes.” Tony responds, wiping away his tears with his thumbs, kissing this temple. “Yes, baby. Yes.”

 

They don’t speak after that, just stand there and think and breathe and be together. Resting his forehead against his Dad’s chest, the teenager closes his eyes, nearly purring when Tony runs his fingers through his curls, fingers soft and body warm and safe. Even still, Peter’s head continues to whirl, thoughts running into each other and crashing like out of control cars on a freeway, but he doesn’t do anything about it, not really.

 

He would much rather have these thoughts in his head then the nightmares from earlier.

 

The sense of fulfillment, of being content beyond belief, is still there when his father leads him to bed, lays down on the navy blue comforter and gently pulls his child against his chest once again. It’s still there when his eyes slip shut and his breathing evens, when the last feeling he has before slipping off to sleep is the gentle rumble of his Dad’s humming against his ear and the soft whoosh of his fingers through his hair.

 

Because he is Peter, the dork, the weirdo with a baby face. Peter, who is Tony Stark’s son.

 

And he wouldn’t want to be anyone else.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and don't forget to review!;D


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